Three years ago. November. I was living in the city with my ex-boyfriend T. (He was an alcoholic drug-addict who didn't work and didn't pay child support to his son) (I thought I loved him and we lived together for over a year until I moved out one day when he was at work).
My sister who lives in another state had come up here to visit. She was staying at my parent's place. I, wanting to prove my maturity, invited my mom and sister over to our place for dinner. I knew my dad would not come so I didn't bother inviting him. They (mom and sis) were kind enough to come over to our house one cold night for some together time.
T. and I had bought 22 oz beers to drink after they left. Strong ones. We prepared dinner, working together. We made chicken on the grill, potatoes, asparagus, and garlic bread. I, wanting to show off my domestic abilities, helped. I am not a great cook. So they came over, early. We weren't ready, but T., as always, went with the flow. I panicked, but pushed on with the preparations because I wanted to show them that I could handle this simple dinner.
I burned the garlic bread. We only had enough money for 3 pieces of chicken (for the four of us) so that was awkward. I don't remember who split their piece but I'm sure it was me. There was only a little bit of asparagus. We didn't have enough money for this dinner. We were poor and spending the little we had on beer and weed.
T. popped open his beer as soon as they got there. I remember being embarrassed for him, because I had previously talked to my mom about his drinking habits. The dinner was a disaster and my cheeks flushed red with mortification. I wanted to prove that I was ok, that I could do this. I didn't prove a damn thing. They just felt sorry for us, and their pity was the worst part.
They acted like it was normal to not have enough food. They acted like it was fine that T. was guzzling his beer, drinking alone. They thought of me as a little girl playing house. And that's how I felt.
God, why am I remembering this right now? The embarrassment and shame I still feel proves to me that our relationship fucked with me in more ways than I can see.
After they left, that night three years ago, T. and I got drunk and high and pushed it all out of our minds, like we always did.